Prophecies Unyielding
by ChristineQuarts
Summary: Just the night before, Frodo had walked into Bree with his companions, expecting to find Gandalf waiting for them at the inn. Now, they instead have a shady Ranger leading them to Rivendell, and a drunken monk chatting away with an uncomfortable Sam. The Ranger he could give the benefit of the doubt, but the monk? And who's ever heard of a green skinned Elf? OC, Tenth Walker. L/SC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**** This is just a little idea I had one day while browsing google images, and saw a drawing of an orcish monk. And I was like, wait, what if... aaaand this was the result. Also, this fic is based more off the lord of the rings movies, as opposed to the books, which I'm ashamed to admit, I've never read. **

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any other work of J.R.R. Tolkien.

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**Prologue**

_In the year 3441 of the Second Age, following the defeat of Sauron the Deceiver, Men and Elves began the hunt for Orcs that would last for well over 3000 years. It is this active - nay, passionate - desire to slaughter the entire race that would eventually drive a mass of nearly 300 Orcs into the far Frozen North._

_North of Rohan, over the peaks of the Misty Mountains, they trekked at night, and at times even through daylight. Some hoped for refuge in the frozen mountain tops, most expected an icy death, but all sought to escape the bloody clutches of Orc Hunters. For months they would travel further, ever further north searching for a home that they were unsure even existed. _

_Many succumbed to the cold. Hunger claimed even more._

_It was only a remaining number of 130 that stumbled upon their final place of rest. An Oasis in a desert of ice and snow, a valley lush and green, warmed by numerous hot springs. With frequent cloud cover that shielded them from the harsh sunlight, it was this paradise that the surviving few called Votar._

_Home._

_In the first few years, life for the Orcs was difficult. Used to the ashen plains of Mordor, the wooded hills of Votar were very much outside their comfort zones, but ever the survivors, they made due. At first their domiciles were little more than huts made from branches and leaves. Having lost a fair amount of their weapons in the mountains, few even had axes with which to gather wood. The first winter they experienced was the first brutal slap to the face that they would need to adapt quicker if they wished to survive._

_The second was when they realized after a few years that the wild game of the valley, was in fact, finite. They would have to expand their diets to include more than just animal flesh. Luckily for them, Orcs are not as stupid as the Men and Elves generally made them out to be. Some older Orcs - those that had more experience in the world - quickly took to farming, while the younger, stronger backs were building houses. _

_When Sauron first created the Orcs, he had taken Elves, and corrupted them. Twisted them until their old natures were forgotten, and only pain and hatred remained. Now, being so isolated from the world, cut off from the dark influences of Mordor and the Ring, their old connection to the earth seemed to be re-strengthened. After two years they began to notice, that the hate and pain that had dominated their hearts had quietly faded from an agonizing screech into a faint murmur. It was another five before they noticed that the sun no longer seemed quite as bright, or as scorching as it had been for so many years._

_And it was near the end of the tenth year that something truly unexpected happened. The first Orc child was born._

_The parents to the orclet had been absolutely terrified when they realized what was going to happen. Never before had the birthing of an orclet been a happy experience, and more often than not it was probably one of the most horrid things one could witness. But even so, the village prepared to welcome the little welp when it came into the world._

_When the time came that the child was born, all were amazed at the ease with which the child was born. Now it was by no means a picnic, but never was there ever a _normal_ birth of an Orc. The babe itself did not scream such a deafening screech as they had been expecting, but rather, she only let out a cry of discomfort, one which was quickly silenced when her mother took her into her arms. This silence was not the only glaring difference between the little newborn and every other orclet that the village had seen, in fact it's voice had hardly been noticed. What had grabbed the attention all that witnessed the event, was the babes color. _

_She was dark _brown._ Not black skinned as was normal for Orcs, not even grey, but brown. Not to mention big. She had to way at least nine pounds. Large for even a human baby, let alone an Orc's._

_When she opened her eyes only a few minutes later, they were hit with another shock. Her eyes were amber, not the normal scarlet that plagued their kind. Overall the orclet was seen as an omen, good or bad they couldn't be sure, but an omen nonetheless. When only a year later another She-Orc gave birth to twin males, both of whom shared the same traits as the first child, it was seen as something caused by the valley itself and was excepted easily._

_And so it continued for many years, the Orcs tamed the valley, turning their humble village into a small town. Farms were expanded, tools were forged and huts became houses, animals were tamed and bred, wild cotton was tended and picked, spun into fabrics for clothes. Elderly died, children were born, grew into adults and gave birth to their own children, and with each generation their bodies and minds strayed farther from those of their ancestors. Their backs straightened as they grew taller, their skin changing from pitch black, to brown, to finally settle on a deep olive green. Mouths full of jagged fangs eventually became orderly rows of teeth, albeit with the exception of two tusks that would poke out just over their top lips. _

_The old Black Speech was quickly abandoned in favor of a new written and spoken language, one that was smoother on the tongue and more gentle on the ears. _

_And while they never became as naturally graceful as their Elvish cousins, the did grow in strength and agility. Fighting was still in their blood and potentially always would be, but squabbles were more often between children and teenagers, and injuries were far from fatal._

_Over time as war faded from their minds until it was just a story told to keep children in line, older Orcs sought to fill their minds with other subjects. Many turned to religion, philosophy and even some sciences. Farmers discovered that rice and potatoes could make very potent liquor. Others, younger and less able to sit still for long periods, turned their fighting nature into an art form. Watching the animals that lived in the surrounding wild, they honed their skills, and later taught others. From the smooth striking style of the Cave Snake, to the raw bone-breaking power of the Mountain Warg, to the unpredictable and adaptable Snow Lemur._

_Those few not particularly gifted in the Martial Arts or other crafts found themselves serving in the temple, as altar keepers or soothsayers._

_For nearly 3000 years, this is how life continued, and thrived. It was in the year 2997 of the Third Age that one particular soothsayer was granted a vision by the Valar, visions of a ring, and a small child-like being destined to destroy it, and the death and destruction resulting should he fail._

_It was on this same night, that an orclet girl was born, and the night that the two destinies were intertwined._

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**A/N: Tell me what you thought. Ask questions, they are all welcome!  
****And yes these new Orcs are based roughly on northern Asia.**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Same as last chapter.

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**Home is Behind**

_20 years to the day..._

Sunlight breaking through the window blinds, stretching across my bedroom, and landing directly in my eye awakens me and makes me aware of the thundering headache intent on splitting open my skull. It takes me several minutes to muster up the strength to even groan before rolling over on my futon, turning my back on the dreaded light, and flailing my hand around on my nightstand. After a moment, my blind search is rewarded by the familiar feel of a gourd jug.

Still half full if the heft is anything to go by, a sin which will be swiftly rectified. Tilting my head back, I let the soothing burn of rice wine pour down the back of my throat. Laying down the way I am a lesser Orc would have choked, but not I, the great Yanshi!

Emptying the jug in a matter of seconds, I toss it and fumble for another. Soon, I've emptied the second jug and my headache is starting to mellow, so I begin the arduous process of sitting up and slinging my legs out of bed. I don't know how long I just sit on the edge of my bed, slowly blinking the sleep from my eyes, but once I am awake enough to feel the sun's warmth on my back, my eyes shoot wide open as I let out a curse.

Scrambling across my room toward my wardrobe, I barely think as I wrap my chest and groin, donning my brown hakama pants before strapping on my greaves. Grabbing the last of my clothes, I rush out the door and across the temple grounds. The Leather sarashi belt for my chest and cloth sarashi belt for my waist are on in seconds, and I just finish wrapping my hands as I enter the training grounds. Already, a thousand excuses and apologies are bubbling in my throat ready to spew out, when I notice that I'm the only one here.

Slightly dumbfounded, I glance at the rising sun.

Yup, it's morning alright.

Late in the morning. After breakfast late. As in, I shouldn't be the only one here.

_Click-clack, Click-clack..._

As my pointed ears perk at the sound of wooden sandals, my nose picks up a familiar scent. One that brings no small amount of dread. Of course, only she could clear out the entire training grounds, just to get me alone. Swallowing down my nerves, and perhaps a little bile, I decide to get the first word in. Valar know that I won't get a second.

"Soothsayer."

The click-clack of sandals stop only a few paces behind me, followed by the rustling of cloth. _Probably smoothing out her dress..._

Silence reigns for a few tense moments, but I don't dare turn around. That's exactly what she wants me to do, turn around and look her in the eye so that she can deliver whatever gloom and doom she deems necessary.

Now, perhaps that seems a bit judgemental, but that is what this particular soothsayer is known for. For all my life at least, she kept herself locked away in her cottage, and only ever came out to give bad news. Never anything pleasant to say, not even a 'good morning' or 'how do ya do', and especially not to me.

Apparently my stubbornness isn't something that she's in the mood for today, because before I can really tell what's happening, she standing in front of me with quite possibly the deadest deadpan stare that I've ever seen.

"Yanshi." Well, shit.

Now, the soothsayer has never really been what anyone would call 'physically intimidating'. If anything, she is rather small - diminutive, I believe is the word - and looks more along the lines of a shriveled up green goat, with how she keeps her grey hair in those two side buns.

But there is still something about her that makes just about everyone uneasy. Perhaps it's the sackloth dress she wears. Or maybe how her fingernails look more like crow talons. Her frigid dark eyes. Hell, maybe it's just the smell. Everywhere she goes, there's always a lingering smell of soot and burnt hair. Maybe it's something else entirely, something spiritual or mental. Even as the silent seconds drag on into minutes of us just staring at each other, I can feel my headache from earlier rearing back up.

As if she could hear my thoughts, she slowly reaches into her oversized sleeve and produces a small metal bottle, which she promptly tosses at me.

After years of training my body, it doesn't take any conscious effort to catch the bottle and pop the lid off with my thumb. Taking a tentative sniff, I'm pleased to find that it's filled with potatoe liquor. I offer the elderly Orc an only slightly forced smile and gladly slam the strong alcohol into the back of my throat.

Once I'm sure that I've freed every last drop from the bottle, I turn my attention back to the soothsayer, not so uneasily as before. Breathing deep, I steel myself and speak.

"Aright, you have my ear. What gloomy business do you have in store for me?"

Okay, I played my part, your move fortune-teller.

Her hard expression seems to soften, if only a little bit.

"Perhaps you recall the prophecy that I spoke upon you during your coming of age?"

I can't help but grimace. I remember what she's referring to. My sixteenth birthday, four years ago. Which also happens to have been the last day that I was fully sober. She had basically said that I would be forced to leave Votar, and venture south on some epic journey to help some Man-child destroy a ring. And that if I refused, then the world would be destroyed. Or if I failed, the world would be destroyed. And even if I succeed, but am not quick enough, a good portion of the world could still end up destroyed.

Oh yeah, even if I succeed completely, I'm probably gonna die in the end.

I remember that father suffered a heart attack shortly after that, and mother wept for three days straight before her grief took her as well.

Yeah. You'd drink too.

Letting out a sigh, I nod my head and grunt an affirmative. "Yeah, I remember."

She stares at me for another moment, before gesturing at a full rucksack leaning against the wall. "All the essentials are in there, including a map. If there's anything personal that you'll want, you best pack it."

I'm pretty sure my brain froze for a second. Is she saying that I have to leave today? Already?

"Oh... is it already that time?" Her silence is answer enough, so with no small amount of resignation I shuffle over to the pack, and sling it over my shoulder. I look back over to ask a question, but the small Orc is already gone.

Letting loose a tremendous sigh I trudge on back to my dorm room, noticing just how deathly silent the halls are save for the aged floorboards creaking beneath my bare feet. The moment I arrive at my door, I nudge it open and take a long look inside.

For the last four years, this room has been my home. Four years of training. Four years of bleeding knuckles, cracked bones, and aching backs.

Four years of lying in a drunken stupor wishing that fate, the Valar, anything, could change what was seemingly inevitable. And yet here I stand.

Steeling myself, I take the few short strides to my wadrobe and grab the walking stick behind it. It's a simple thing, just a straight piece of hickory standing only a few inches taller than me at almost seven feet. A red cloth rope is wrapped around it a few times with leather cords hanging from it.

I also grab my cloak from inside the wardrobe, just a tan cape and cowl made from thick wool. I've never had much use for it before now, it was given as a gift just a couple years ago by my instructor.

Lastly, I open the bottom drawer and remove a pair of gauntlets. They're made of just a few steel plates linked together to protect my wrists and knuckles, while leaving my fingers bare and open. Again, these were gifts. I found early on in my training that I'm much more adept at using my fists than any forged weapon.

Locking the gauntlets onto my wrists and wrapping the cloak over my shoulders, I grab my stick and leave the dorms without a second look back. Not wanting to be in this place any longer and risk losing my nerve, I hurry out of the temple and down the steps leading into the village. The temple resides at the north side of town, while the path I must take is at the southernmost edge, meaning that I'll have to walk through the town's main road. The steps down the hill are long -they leave most Orcs a little winded after traversing them- but I reach the bottom in what seems like no time at all. The entire village spans before me, and I swallow my nerves as I realize that everyone I know -which is just about everyone- is lined up on either side of the road, watching me.

Taking a steadying breath, I take a step, and then another. As my feet carry me down the street, I see some of my friends and fellow students give silent nods and waves which i return with an equal lack of enthusiasm. Some shop keepers give me food or gold for my journey, one gives me several jugs of alcohol that are quickly strapped to my staff and my belt. There are no tearful goodbyes, as everyone's been expecting this day for four years now, and before long I've reached the border of the town, only the mountains standing before me now.

A single narrow paths leads forward, and without a glance behind I continue up the long road ahead. Loosing one of the jugs from my belt, I take a swig as I look up at the snow covered peaks.

Home is behind me now, the big and terrible world ahead. And as one chapter in my life ends, so it seems that another begins.


End file.
